We're the New Romantics
by spacefemme
Summary: They sing it proudly.
1. Our different scarlet letters

Eddie barely made it out of that godforsaken shit-cave. It's probably a miracle he stayed lucid until they got out. He passed out within thirty seconds of the house collapsing and hasn't woken up yet, so the Losers are back at the townhouse to wash up and rest. God knows they all need it.

Richie takes a shower, but of course he doesn't get all the grime and dried blood off in one go, so he washes himself again. Then a third time. Then he just stands under the water for what must be a solid hour. He cries a few times. It's kind of nice; he doesn't have to worry about anyone seeing him like this.

Until he can't hold it back and one of his sobs comes out more like a scream.

He claps his hand over his mouth and turns off the water, tensing up and waiting to see if anything happens as he tries to steady his breathing. He stands still in the shower, balancing himself by keeping a hand pressed against the wall, staring down at his feet, until someone knocks on the door and he has no choice but to deal with it.

"Just a minute," he calls out. He scrambles to dry off and throw on a clean tee shirt and some sweatpants and answers the door to see Beverly standing there in her pajamas with a troubled look on her face.

"Hey," she says, sounding like a mom whose kid just had a nightmare. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Yeah," says Richie, rubbing his face in embarrassment that he knows isn't warranted. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Bev shakes her head. "You don't sound fine."

"Then why'd you ask?"

It's too harsh, biting. He knows as soon as he says it. But he can feel bad about it later.

Bev sets her jaw. "Can we talk about it?"

"Why?"

Okay, he'll feel bad about that one, too.

"Because," she says, voice cracking. "The guys are all asleep, and from the looks of it we could both stand to actually start processing the last two days."

Richie sighs and opens the door wider, beckoning her in. He can sit in denial all he wants, but he'd be a pretty shitty friend to turn her away right now.

They sit on the end of his unmade bed. Bev sits up straight, but she can't hide her exhaustion. Richie sits with his fingers laced together, elbows resting on his knees, and basically crumples over. She rubs the top of his back.

"I'm sorry."

"'Bout what?"

"That you had to see it."

He sniffs. "Coulda been worse, right?"

She pauses, and when he looks up he sees a horribly knowing look in her eye.

"Yeah," she chokes.

Richie sighs through his nose.

Bev goes on, "When It was fucking with all of us at Neibolt, I heard Ben getting buried alive. I'm still not sure if we were both just imagining it or if it really could've suffocated him."

"Probably safe to say it would've hurt him regardless."

"I guess so."

After a beat, Richie smiles despite himself. Despite everything.

"When we were kids," he says. "It showed me and Bill these three doors. They said 'Not Scary At All,' 'Scary,' then 'Very Scary.'"

"You open them?"

"Just the 'Not Scary' one."

"What was behind it?"

"Half a dead body," he says with a chuckle. "It did the same thing to me and Eddie today."

"What was it this time?"

"'Not Scary' was a dog that turned into a fucked up skeleton-monster-thing. 'Very Scary' was another half-corpse, only this time it was in a literal closet."

Bev presses her lips together, hesitating. Richie looks up at her and his eyes are scared and pleading and hopeful all at once. They tell her to ask.

"Richie, are you -"

"Gay. Yeah." He ignores the tears stinging his eyes as Bev wraps her arms around him.

"You know we all love you, right?"

He starts to sob quietly again, and he's not sure how much of it is him and how much is Eddie.

"This is gonna pass," she says, and pulls away. Now she's crying, too. "He's gonna get through this." She takes Richie's hand. "And when he does, I think you should tell him."

Richie sighs. "I'm gonna come out to everybody, don't worry -"

"Richie, I know you love him." She says it with her same air of authority, but it also sounds like it pains her.

His eyes widen. "What?"

"When he -" she cuts herself off like she was about to say the wrong thing. Richie wonders if she's seen what he saw. "When he passed out...I haven't seen anyone torn up like that since my mom died."

Richie doesn't say anything at first, but he knows his tears are giving him away.

"You love him," she says again. "And I know one way or another, he -"

Richie holds a hand up. "Don't."

"Richie -"

"Yeah, good job, Nancy Drew," he says as he stands up. "You figured me out. I'm fucking gay, and I'm fucking in love with Eddie - to the point that today has been physically _painful_. But I can't exactly complain to my middle school best friend who just narrowly escaped death and - oh yeah - _has a wife_ about physical pain, now can I?"

Bev stares him down, unwavering. "Fine," she says with a shrug as she stands up to his level. "Then wait until he's out of the hospital. Or until he's ready to leave town again, or until that wife he hasn't said a word about since we've been back comes to get him, or maybe until something else horrible happens and he -"

She stops. They're giving each other the same stern look, but there's the same hurt behind it.

Her phone starts buzzing next to her. She frowns when she sees the screen, but she answers it.

"Tom," she says flatly.

Richie can't make out what Tom is saying, but he sounds pissed. Bev, true to form, isn't having it.

"No," she says, evidently not giving a shit about having this conversation in front of a third party. "I'll tell you what's going to happen. I'm going to call my lawyer, I'm going to divorce you, I'm going to get a restraining order against you, and if you ever fucking come near me again I'm going to fucking kill you. Do you - Tom, do you _fucking understand me_?"

Tom doesn't seem to be taking it well. Richie's pretty sure the word "bitch" comes out a few times, but that's all he can understand. Whatever else is being said, Bev is barely fazed. She sets her jaw and hangs up.

He calls again. She sends him to voicemail.

He calls again. Richie takes the phone from her and answers.

"Tom, hello," he says, feigning chipperness.

"Who the fuck is this?" says Tom. "Is this Mike?"

"No, no, this is Richie Tozier."

"The shitty comedian? My wife fucking you, too?"

"Oh, no," he says with a laugh. "Even if I liked women, she'd be way out of my league. Kinda like she's out of your insecure-piece-of-shit league."

Bev raises her eyebrows and stifles a laugh.

Even when Richie's the one talking to him, he can barely comprehend Tom's batshit ranting, so he just cuts him off.

"Now, Tom, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but I think it's only fair to warn you that Bev's got five old friends back here who will be happy to assist her in kicking your pathetic ass if need be. So maybe you should make things easier on yourself and uh, punch yourself in the face? And then maybe in the dick. Alright, nice talkin' to you, bye."

Bev's faint smile gets bigger as she silently raises up her hand for Richie to high-five it. He obliges before showing her how to block contacts on her phone. As soon as they've given Tom that treatment, it starts ringing again - Ben this time. She answers it with another soft smile.

"Hey. ...Yeah, no, I'm with Richie. ...He's holdin' up alright. ...I know." She looks right at him.

He can't hear Ben either, but he thinks he knows what he's saying.


	2. All alone, or so it seemed

Eddie is awake. Hurting like hell, totally spent, but awake.

Richie thinks he's the last person Eddie should talk to right now. There's no way he has the capacity to put up with his shit after getting impaled by whatever the fuck It actually was, followed by skin grafts and a blood transfusion.

But Eddie asks to see him first, so he goes.

"Hey," he says when he walks in, voice low like he's afraid Eddie might break at any loud noise or sudden movement.

Eddie smiles. Richie's always looking out for him, in his own dumb way.

"Look who survived," Eddie says as Richie sits in the chair next to his hospital bed.

"Who, me? Yeah, the trick is to not get impaled through the fucking chest."

Eddie chuckles. "Seems like that part's optional."

"Well, it'll give you the best results," Richie says. "Everyone's in the waiting room, you wanna see them?"

"Not right now," says Eddie. "I wanna talk to you."

For a second Richie is thirteen, trying desperately to keep his cool when Eddie outright says he wants to spend time alone with him.

_Of course_, he wants to say.

"Don't I feel special," he says instead, and as much as he tries to make it sound like a joke, he's scared Eddie can hear the truth behind it.

Eddie doesn't acknowledge it, just says, "I'm sorry."

Richie looks up at the bag connected to Eddie's IV.

"Jesus, dude, how much blood did you lose?"

_You should've died._

"Probably about five times as much as I got on your shirt," says Eddie.

"Is that what you're sorry for? Ruining my ugly-ass shirt?"

_Don't get me wrong, dude, I'm glad you didn't, but you should have fucking died down there._

"For scaring the shit out of you," he says knowingly, though Richie's not sure exactly how much he knows.

"I don't know if you really need to apologize," says Richie. "We've all had the shit scared out of us this week."

_Everything else that motherfucker did to me doesn't seem so bad now. You should've died. I saw you._

"I was so stupid, though," Eddie says, shaking his head.

"No you weren't."

"I was. Of course I couldn't kill an ancient world-eating monster with a fence post to the head."

For once Richie doesn't care if Eddie sees him tear up. That's normal, crying after a platonic friend almost dies. "Sure as fuck slowed it down."

_We didn't figure it out fast enough and you died._

Eddie rests his hand on top of Richie's on the armrest.

_I love you._

He wraps his fingers around Richie's and squeezes gently.

_So much it hurts._

Richie smiles and shakes his head. "Fucking idiot turned your back on it," he mutters.

_I knew it was going to happen, why didn't I push you out of the way?_

"At least I didn't try to _Die Hard_ it to death," says Eddie. He's silent for a moment before he starts laughing quietly.

"What?"

_If you weren't married I might kiss you right now._

"'Sloppy bitch?'"

"How did you -"

"Bev may or may not have told me on the phone."

Richie can only laugh before his stomach growls.

"Go eat," says Eddie. "We can talk later."

Richie nods and tries to hide his breath catching when he lets go of Eddie's hand.

As he gets up to leave, Eddie asks, "Hey, you said everybody's out there?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you send Bev in?"

Richie smiles. "She's the fucking best, isn't she?"

Eddie nods. "She's up there."

* * *

Bev comes in and before she can say anything, ask how he's feeling, Eddie says, "Can I tell you a secret?"

She nods as she sits down.

"When this is all over," he says with a growing smile. "I'm leaving my wife."

"Why's that?"

Eddie shrugs. "I don't love her."

"That'll do it," she says with a nod. "I'm in the middle of leaving Tom."

"Hey," he says excitedly. "We're divorce buddies!"

Bev laughs out loud. "He called me at the hotel," she says. "Richie and I told him off."

"Whaddaya know, Richie the white knight."

"You're one to talk," she says, crossing her arms. "Mr. 'Beep Beep Motherfucker.'"

"It was a motherfucker," he says defensively. "I wanted it to beep beep, what else was I supposed to do?"

"I'm not questioning your methods," she says. "You turned into a badass back there. Just maybe -"

"To a fault?"

"A little bit," she says, close to tears at the sight of him. Or maybe at the memory. "Eddie, can I ask you something?" She leans forward.

"I love him," he says quickly. Bev raises her eyebrows and he goes on, "I mean, yeah, me and Myra...this has been a long time coming. But you're right. I love him; that's a big part of it."

She smiles and wipes a tear away with the heel of her hand. "Richie was right. You're brave."

"He's called me adorable a couple times this week," says Eddie. "Which kinda sucks because then I get all flustered and I don't know what to do with myself."

Bev cocks her head. "Well, you know he wouldn't say something like that if he didn't mean it."

"Christ," Eddie says with a laugh. "It's like a fucking slumber party, us sitting here talking about boys."

"I can bring snacks next time I visit," she says. "I'd rent some videos, too, if anyone still did that."

"You're good," says Eddie, his eyelids starting to weigh down on him. "I'm probably seconds from falling asleep again. They got me on the good stuff."

"Alright," says Bev, brushing some hair out of his eyes. "We'll come back."

He nods silently and closes his eyes, a faint smile still on his face.


	3. It said enough

_The Exorcist_ still scares them. Richie, at least. And, okay, maybe "scared" isn't the right word for it. He spends a lot of the movie making fun of Linda Blair and positing that maybe behavior like moving furniture with your mind and stabbing yourself with a crucifix is just pubescent awkwardness. He insists that the hot priest the mom goes to for help looks just like Eddie, with the same cheekbones and mommy issues.

Eddie knows that's why he falls silent at the end, when the priest throws himself down the stairs and his friend tearfully comforts him, holding his bloodied hand until it goes limp.

Richie won't say anything about it afterwards, but Eddie stays with him that night without being asked, and Richie doesn't argue. Eddie just settles into the empty side of the bed and they sleep facing each other. At one point he hears Richie sniffle, so he fumbles in the dark for his hand and squeezes it. He holds on, intermittently stroking Richie's fingers with his thumb, until Richie falls asleep.

Eddie checks out of his room the next morning and they share Richie's until he's recovered enough for travel.

* * *

By the time Richie and Eddie get to Richie's house in L.A., they're so sick of Derry and that goddamn townhouse that they don't even register the jet lag at first. They're just relieved to be out of hospitals and shitty hotels and planes and airports and finally home.

Shit. _Home_.

This is what that means to Eddie now. The thought just popped into his head and it took him a second to realize his mind no longer goes to New York when he thinks of home. It feels a little strange when he thinks about it, but he likes where he is now. For the most part.

"I know it's not super clean right now," says Richie as they set down their bags in the front hall. "But it's got all the major conveniences. And you know the best part?"

His inflection doesn't change, but Eddie can absolutely tell he's about to say something annoying. He takes the bait anyway.

"What?"

Richie leans in to whisper in his ear. "We've got lube."

Eddie sighs and rubs his temples as Richie starts cackling.

* * *

They start getting ready for bed around nine, but only because their internal clocks are at midnight. They didn't bother discussing sleeping arrangements, Eddie just put his bags in Richie's room and they'll divvy up dresser and closet space when they unpack tomorrow.

Once Richie's washed his face and moisturized with that cream Eddie made him buy a couple weeks ago because _it's basic hygiene_ and _your skin is so dry I think it might fall off your face_, he sneaks up behind Eddie while he's combing his hair and kisses his neck, making him stumble backward with a flustered laugh.

When Eddie gets his footing again and sets his comb on top of the dresser, Richie kisses his lips, which he readily returns. Without breaking, Richie falls back on the bed holding Eddie's face and licks into his mouth. Eddie reciprocates, and before he knows what's happening Richie is reaching down to take off Eddie's shirt, and he instinctively throws his hands down to stop him.

They haven't gone any further than making out yet, though not for lack of wanting. Up to now, they were able to explain it away as neither of them being comfortable buying lube in Derry. Now Eddie realizes he doesn't have much else of an excuse.

They pull away and stare at each other a moment before Eddie blinks and says, "Sorry, I…"

"No, it's fine," Richie says, shaking his head. "If you don't want to -"

"It's not that."

He gets off of Richie and they sit up.

"Have you never…?"

"Not with a - that's not the problem."

"Alright, so what is?"

"I don't…" He stares at Richie and can tell that he legitimately doesn't see what it is. Eddie huffs. "I don't want you to see me with my shirt off."

Richie scoffs. "Eds, I'm reasonably certain neither of us got as ripped as Ben did over the last twenty-odd years."

"Rich, can you really not think of any other reason I might not want you to see my chest?"

Richie's face falls. "What, because of the -" he gestures at Eddie's chest. "Whatever they're called?"

"Skin grafts."

"The skin grafts? You think I'm gonna be grossed out or something?"

"I don't know - look, it's not you."

Richie casts his eyes down. "Kind of is," he mutters.

Eddie sighs. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Jesus, Eddie." He rests his face on one hand, propping up his arm on his knee. "I don't care about that. I can live without ever seeing your dick, I'm more concerned about your _reasoning_."

"I think it's pretty normal to feel weird about giant scars you got from a murder attempt less than a month ago."

"It probably is, but you know, it's also normal to trust your boyfriend."

Eddie's eyes widen. "What the _fuck_ makes you think I don't trust you?"

Richie stands up and paces back and forth next to the bed. "I don't know, maybe because back in Derry you said, 'Hey man, I have feelings for you' and I said, 'Oh dude, same' and you thought I was fucking with you? And now you think I'm gonna judge you for having surgical scars that I'm basically responsible for?" His voice cracks and he stops to face Eddie, pointing at himself and only now becoming aware of the tears welling up in his eyes.

He drops his hand and softens his face as Eddie stares at him, gaping.

"How are you -"

"I saw it happen," says Richie. "In the deadlights. I knew It was gonna get you and I didn't do shit. So yeah, maybe you do have a reason not to -"

"Don't fucking say it," Eddie says gravely. He stops for a moment before saying more calmly, "You probably just weren't processing."

Richie looks up and shakes his head. "That's not an excuse. I couldn't get off my ass to stop you from getting killed because I wasn't _processing_."

"That just about makes us even."

"Pretty sure what made us even was you snapping me out of it by stabbing the fucking thing. Me letting you almost die kinda reset it."

"The way I see it, it was more like me paying you back for almost letting you die by putting my life on the line."

"You didn't know you were risking your life."

"I should have."

Richie crouches down to meet his eye level. "Will you stop saying that?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Richie sighs.

"Alright," he says as he sits back down next to him. "I see your point."

"As for... the other thing," Eddie says, slumping his shoulders slightly. "I was in my own head. You know, it took until I was forty to admit that I'm gay, and the only thing that scared me more once the fucking clown was out of the picture was -"

"Getting rejected for it," Richie says, his chest falling.

"I mean - by you, specifically."

"Yeah." He nods in a way that says _The feeling's mutual._

They're silent for a moment, Richie wiping the tears that managed to escape, Eddie staring straight ahead, then at Richie's face. He pulls off his shirt and drops it on the floor. He looks down at his chest and starts to chuckle.

"That's not really anything, is it," he says, and looks back up at Richie, who's been squinting at the scars.

"Can I be honest?"

"Yeah?"

A smile breaks across Richie's face as he meets Eddie's gaze. "They're kinda hot."

Eddie snorts.

"Seriously," says Richie. "It's like you've got a _past_."

"Yeah, I've got a past full of putting up with your shit," Eddie says, and points to a scar in the middle of his abdomen. "This is from the time you ripped some of the siding off my house sneaking out the window in tenth grade and I had to tell my mom it was a raccoon."

Richie laughs, and Eddie reaches over to help him get his shirt off before pushing him back down onto the mattress and pressing their lips together.

"Baby," Richie says when Eddie pulls away to take off his pants. "You know you don't have to do this just to -"

Eddie kisses him hard, then says, "Call me that again."

Richie smirks. "_Baby_."

Eddie moves his lips against the nape of Richie's neck as he wriggles off his own pants and kicks them off the bed.

"I fucking love you," Richie whispers.

Eddie's in the middle of moving down to take off Richie's boxers and looks up at him.

"I know."


End file.
